Rusted rain
by homosexualsakura
Summary: He crushes the remaining anger like butterflies beneath his feet.


There's an acidic taste in his mouth.

The impending bitterness still takes him off-guard as he sweeps his tongue over his teeth and the roof of his mouth, and he bites his cheek in dismay.

Glancing around reveals the same fact it did seven minutes ago: he is alone.

There's grime on the brick walls on either side of him, and he makes sure not to lean too much on anything as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

He scowls.

The wait is always earth-shatteringly _boring._

The weeds at his feet serve as a distraction as he crushes them meticulously, clumps of grass sticking to the underside of his sneakers, and he huffs out an impatient breath.

Bakura hates waiting.

There is no noise; if he were in a movie, he'd say _it's quiet…almost too quiet, _but he says nothing and his scowl only deepens, and the clouds above serve as a reminder to what the weather report had told him- it was going to rain.

He could take the wait if only it weren't for the rain.

His fingers rub together, thumbnail cutting into the flesh of his middle finger, and he thinks maybe he should busy his hands otherwise- not that they're _his _hands, for that matter, but the thought is there, nonetheless.

He lets out another annoyed huff, and arches his back to the sky, catching the first few raindrops on his face.

He hears footsteps, deliberately loud, and turns to look at the mouth of the alleyway.

He's there.

Bakura doesn't know why it always surprises him; it's familiar enough to stand and wait for hours on end, because he will always arrive, but something unsettled in him always calms down when he catches a glimpse of the tall figure, patiently watching Bakura.

He pushes himself away from the wall, crosses his arms and regards the man with distrust and relief.

Malik moves in closer.

"You really shouldn't bother showing up at all if you're going to be three hours late."

Bakura knows his voice comes out angry, and he only means to sound condescending- he knows Malik hates it when he is. He doesn't mean to sound so unjustly angry, either; he's always known that the other would let him walk away if he truly wanted to.

He crushes the remaining anger like butterflies beneath his feet.

Malik doesn't attempt to move closer to him, content to stand where he's standing, light rain steadily hitting his face and running down his neck until the drops disappear under his shirt, and he seems utterly unfazed by the sudden wetness.

"Why were you late this time?"

Bakura has gained control of his voice, and he makes it inquiring rather than indifferent, and he combs a hand through his hair, making sure to seem casual enough to do so.

Malik's expression doesn't change, and his voice sounds louder than the thunder overhead when he speaks.

"I was waiting for it to rain."

Bakura exhales, feeling a fool, and thinks _of course it'd be because of something so inane, what else was I expecting, _and he makes his eyes sharp as he begins walking towards Malik.

"Well then," he begins, advancing slowly and noting the relaxed posture of the taller man. "It's raining now, isn't it?"

Malik nods, as if the question needed an answer, and he absently stands a bit straighter, his weight evenly divided by his feet.

"What did you want to do that took the presence of rain to be executed?"

Bakura stands close, the heart that temporarily belongs to him beating securely within the flesh, and he crosses his arms to make himself seem less vulnerable.

(It never works.)

Malik is dangerous, and his grin conveys as much, and Bakura absently notes that he tastes like copper and salt when he kisses him.

The rain begins to fall harder, pounding away at their skin, and the grime against the wall doesn't bother Bakura as he gets pushed against it, and if he has a coherent thought it goes something like _I don't even know what we are or why I'm even here, _but they scatter in all directions as a hand creeps up his shirt against his slick skin.

When he feels Malik smirk into the kiss, he takes note of the smell in the air- not humid or grassy, as it tends to be, but stale and rusty, and it lingers in his nostrils, forcing him to exhale forcefully, and after Malik pulls away for a breath of rust-smelling air, Bakura closes his eyes and thinks about the taste left in his mouth.

It tastes like acid.

_Fin._

_Inspired by a particularly rainy day and a desire to have these two kiss._

_Review, please, to let me know what you thought and why you thought it so I can bring you similar masterpieces (lolol who am I kidding) in the future._


End file.
